Lights Out II
by itano
Summary: So it's happened again: Takano and Ritsu find themselves in another power outage. But with the rest of the Marukawa Shoten team trapped along with them, its going to be one long night. Well, they say misery loves company. Sequel to Lights Out!
1. Here We Go Again

**Authors Note: **Hey all! Its been a while, right? Well, with the popularity of my previous Lights Out story for Sekaiichi Hatsukoi I decided to make a sequel. At first it started as 3,000 words…then it just got bigger and bigger and whelp, now it's a full story. Whoops.

Anyway, thank you so much for your patience during my hiatus over these past couple months. Now that the summer has finally come (finally) I am able to focus again on what makes me truly happy: writing! I have so many new stories that will be coming out so brace yourselves. First things first though, update for Beloved will be coming within the week since its been quite a while *shame shame*

Please read, review, and enjoy!

Thanks all,

~itano

**ONE**

First Takano asked him to find Kisa Shouta. When he located him in the janitor's closet, Takano asked him what the hell he was thinking.

He swivelled around in his chair, black plastic frame glasses sitting low on his nose. "You spent practically an hour trying to find him. You're wasting time, Onodera."

"You _told_ me to find him!" Onodera protested.

The man narrowed his gaze, staring up archly at Ritsu with flat amber eyes that reminded Ritsu of the colour of beer…and piss, his pride interjected sourly. There was a pause, a moment where Takano was studying Ritsu just as intently as the brunet was scrutinising him.

His next words, however, sent a jolt of fear through his body. "Are Satou-sensei's manuscripts finished?" came the crisp question.

No, he was too busy hunting down Kisa for the past forty-five minutes, like Takano _told him to_. Plus, Satou had been being difficult all week long, which made Ritsu way behind in his schedule—even after spending twelve hours at the office yesterday he was still behind by _hours_. But, the worst part about that little question was that Takano _knew _that Ritsu wasn't done. Otherwise he wouldn't have been hanging around the office on a Friday night—but the question of 'are you finished with …' was Takano's universal entrance into publically humiliating his victim of choice.

Waiting for a response, whether he was expecting one or not, Takano began tapping his fingers against the desk impatiently. Ritsu floundered for a reply, caught within a lose/lose situation—no matter what he said he wasn't doing the right thing. After a few seconds passed, Ritsu saw that little triumphant spark in the man's eyes and he glowered. It was disgusting that he found some kind of perverse enjoyment out of watching Ritsu flail helplessly, like an old tomcat batting a baby bird back and forth.

"No," Ritsu finally admitted, when he found the breath to speak. "You...you said that I needed to find Kisa or you'd get him fired."

The guy blinked, eyebrows raising, staring for a long, silent moment before he lowered his gaze to the side and let out a soft chuckle. When he looked up at Ritsu once more, his expression had softened considerably. "That's sweet of you to look after your friends, Onodera. I always liked that about you."

Ritsu fumed. Swallowing his anger, he continued, mildly, staring at his shoes, "I just thought you were being harsh." He knew he was dancing around a real insult, but no matter how deeply he despised Takano, their roles within workplace seemed to override any of the bite to their usual bickering. Instead, he fumbled for the right words, explaining, "I…. I mean, he was panicking, and he needed someone to talk him out of it."

"Hmm, harsh," Takano muttered, considering the implications of that word. "Harsh or realistic?"

"Harsh," Ritsu replied sharply. "You need to be a little bit more compassionate."

Takano swung back round in his chair, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Compassionate doesn't sell manga." Then, just like that, he lifted a dismissive hand and shooed him away. "Get that manuscript finished, Onodera. I want it here in two hours or I'll personally castrate you." Before Ritsu could retort, Takano snatched the sleeve of his sweater, pulled him down so he could feel the man's warmth brushing against the shell of his ear. "Though it'd be a shame to do such a thing," he murmured, mischievously. And with that, he pulled away, turning back to his work as if nothing happened, as if he hadn't left Onodera standing there caught between gape and a scowl.

He ended up shuffling back to his desk, humiliated and thoroughly perturbed. Kisa, who was waking slowly from his comatose state, had his head in his hands, muttering some kind of jibberish that sounded like, "Riichan, there's no point. There's no point in even trying."

"What are you talking about," Ritsu asked, plopping down into his seat.

Kisa turned slowly, just enough to have one eye peeking out. "Morimoto-sensei will never be finished, ever," he said in a very small voice.

"Huh?"

"She's not finishing," he uttered, shaking his head. "Not this time. Takano-san is going to skin me alive…I'm so fucking stupid." He started smacking himself.

"No you're not," Ritsu protested mildly, wondering what on earth caused this. Normally Kisa, despite his jaunty personality, was able to keep on track with his deadlines—and this cycle, everything seemed fine until an hour ago, when suddenly he claimed he was going to the bathroom and never came back.

"I should have asked for the manuscripts sooner…I shouldn't have let her go to that wedding party…"

"Its not your fault," Ritsu attempted again, desperate, "Morimoto-sensei should be done soon. Any second you'll get the call and everything will be fine."

Hatori, who was sitting on the other side of the room, suddenly stood from his chair. "Yoshikawa-sensei is finished," he declared, with a sigh. Kisa turned to face the man, expression morphing into a gawk—a result of poorly concealed jealousy. Hatori had a hefty stack of papers in hand, the finished manuscripts, setting them into Takano's desk before he asked the editor-in-chief, "Is there anything else that needs to be done here?"

Takano glanced up at him with a calm expression and shook his head. "No, you're done Hatori. Thank you for all your hard work."

"I suppose I'll be going then. Good night everyone," he bowed quickly, before grabbing his briefcase off the desk. All the guys gave their own weary goodbyes, sending him off. Once he was out the door, Kisa's shoulders slumped and he began spitting a burst of colorful curses to himself.

Ritsu, on the other hand, glanced down at his desk. A flurry of of papers, scattered round his desk haphazardly, were a bitter reminder for his own work worries and he blew a deep breath. With the way that things were looking, he'd literally be here all night.

The office slipped into a tense silence, voices void among the droning hum of computers, the clacking of keyboards, the occasional sniffle, huff, sigh. Twenty minutes passed this way, concentration keeping the men at Emerald under hushed tones, the sounds of the fresh night finding their way past the window, taking the role as the background soundtrack as they worked.

"_Masamune_!"

All the men jumped. "Do you have to be so fucking loud Yokozawa?" Irritably clutching at the phone receiver, Takano turned to glare at the other man who had come barrelling through the door. All the other editors in the room cringed. Whenever Yokozawa climbed the two extra floors, from the sales department to the shoujo manga, he was there to pick a fight.

"You know better than to fuck with me, Masamune," he snarled, ploughing past Kisa and Ritsu's posts, slamming his hands down onto Takano's desk. For a moment, Ritsu wondered if he was going to explode into one of his legendary outbursts. Yokozawa Takafumi, although he was known for being a shrewd salesman with a knack for numbers, he was equally notable for his preposterous displays of temper—for the Emerald department, the most popular occurrence of such behaviour was when he came to harass their editor-in-chief for one thing or another. Yokozawa was lucky that he landed a job at Marukawa—strong personalities dominated Marukawa, people who could be charming one minute and absolutely monstrous the next. But as long as they continued to produce worthwhile content, and as long as that content remained being the magazine world's darling, none of them would be punished for their rash behaviour.

A less confident editor would have been terrified, but Takano was unimpressed with Yokozawa's intimidation. He sniffed, bored, and with an impatient huff he asked, "What did I do _this time_?"

"You promised me you'd be done two hours ago! _Two_! You're cutting into my weekend!" he growled, glowering down at Takano with enough intensity to pull the bark off a tree.

Takano just rolled his eyes and rolled away to the opposite side of his desk, casually organizing a packet of papers. "You knew when you started working here that there wouldn't be any set schedule," he said, adopting a familiar tone of banter. "Anyway, what are you so worked up about? Got a date?"

Yokozawa sputtered, shaken. "H-hell no, I just need to eat and take a piss eventually!"

"Well, there's a mini fridge in the copy room and a bathroom down the hall to our left," Takano said coldly, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd enjoy my peace and quiet back."

"Listen, Masamune, I need your final drafts to be off to the printer in an hour._ One hour. _There's no way I'm spending the rest of the night here with you."

"Aw, come on, it'd be fun," Takano said sardonically. "It'd be like a sleepover."

Yokozawa just rolled his eyes, turning to retreat from the Emerald office. "As badly as you want to have a little pillow fight and braid my hair, I'll have to decline. Maybe next time," he sneered, storming out in a huff.

However, before he reached the door, Takano called teasingly, "For a man who wears a polka dot apron, I'm surprised at your hesitation!"

And then, Yokozawa did finally lose his temper. The man stopped in his tracks and threw a glare over his shoulder. "Where in the hell did you see that?" he spat. Ritsu glanced from Kisa to Mino, to Kisa again: when was Yokozawa wearing an apron? Kisa shrugged and Mino nibbled at his lower lip, a poor attempt to keep his snicker at bay.

Takano shrugged. "Here and there. It was rather…charming. A little _Home and Garden_ for my tastes though."

"Mention it again and I'll fucking strangle you," he said darkly. "Remember, Masamune. _One hour_." And with that, Yokozawa stomped away, his curses audible all the way down the hall.

Once he was finally out of earshot, Takano sharply inhaled and grumbled, "Damn…" There was a moment of silence, awkward and shifting, until Takano finally announced, "Alright, everyone. We now have an hour and a half!"

Kisa groaned loudly, slamming his head into the desk; Mino nodded, though his perpetual glow was a little duller than normal; Ritsu gaped, swivelling in his chair to stare at the man in horror. He needed three hours at least—there was no way he'd get his part done. Satou had called a day ago, saying that her uncle had passed away and she had to ignore her work while she sorted things out with her family. Of course this was her fourth uncle who had "died" in the past two months, but after Takano hollered ruthlessly at her on the phone, Ritsu couldn't possibly scold the crying woman anymore and took her story in stride. She had tried her hardest tonight to finish, but with five pages completely text-empty, they both had a ways to go.

"T-Takano-san, there's no way I can finish in that time!" he protested desperately. "There must be another way we can buy more time."

"Stop whining, Onodera. You have enough time, just work faster," Takano replied sharply.

"I'm trying!" Ritsu snapped. "We all are trying! But one hour is just not enough time!"

"You should have been on Satou-sensei's ass since day one and this wouldn't have been happening to you! You say I'm so cruel for yelling at my writers, but they get their shit done fast! If…."

Suddenly, the lights went out.

There was a moment where everything was quiet – whether it be shock, fear, confusion—the world stopped for a second. The buzzing nightlife below them came to a halt, the computers hums cut off abruptly, every voice in the office silent.

Then came the first scream, one of the women from the Sapphire department, followed by the sound of several horns blaring below them as slue of sirens went off all at once. Two emergency lights flickered to life in the hall, between Sapphire and Emerald's front doors, their glow only blanketing the front of the room, leaving the corners of the room swamped in darkness. The editors with laptops were illuminated by the light from their personal computers, each of their expressions contorted with confusion.

Takano, who happened to be located on one of the "edges" of the room, without his laptop open, was enveloped in darkness. His attention snapped up to the others in the room, barking, "What in the hell is going on!"

"Uh, I think the power just went out in our building," Mino pointed out.

"Yeah, I think so," Ritsu agreed. He grabbed the phone off its receiver, lifted it to his ear and frowned. "Phone is dead. And, listen, the air conditioning stopped."

Takano exhaled a deep, huffy breath, before he stood, heading to the window, put out by the whole matter. He slid open the blinds, peering out into the night before he muttered, "Fuck."

"What? What?" Kisa asked, frantically.

When Takano didn't immediately respond—he tore a hand through his hair instead, smashing his eyes shut as he turned his chin up to the ceiling, groaning—Ritsu hopped to his feet and marched over to the window. He blinked. The traffic on the road that passed Marukawa Shoten's building was in a snarl. There was a flurry of horns, people getting out of their cars. His eyes followed their gestures to the traffic light that swayed over the intersection a couple hundred yards down. The light was pitch black. He then trailed the highway in the distance that snaked its way past the Ikebukuro and into central Tokyo. Somewhere among the buildings a plume of smoke billowed.

"We're in a black out," Ritsu declared.

Kisa wailed in frustration, folding his arms onto the desk before he lay down and cradled his head between his elbows – he was working on a laptop but without his power cord, the computer was destine to die in the next fifteen minutes.

"Shit, I thought this was over with months ago!" Takano howled. There were blackouts for months early last year, but seeing that the power supply had been seemingly stabilized according to their politicians, to have another blackout like this was curious.

Ritsu shrugged, hopelessly as he peered out at the city that sprawled below them. It looked rather lonely without the glow of neon lights and billboards running up and down the buildings. "I did too," Ritsu muttered as an afterthought.

"Wait!" Kisa suddenly perked, eyes darting around the room. "Does that mean the printer is shut down for the time being? Meaning that we can't do anything?"

There was a brief silence. "Well, I suppose," Mino guessed with a shrug.

Takano drooped against the window, hopeless. "I need a smoke," he muttered angrily, smashing his eyes shut.

"Yay!" Kisa cheered. "We can go home!"

Takano opened one eye, ominously, and growled, "Not until you have your final manuscript done." Kisa scowled at him resentfully, before his pout came bursting out in full force. Takano just ignored him, slamming his eyes shut once more, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Anyway," Mino added, "The trains are probably all shut down right now and taxis probably don't want to deal with all the traffic, so even if we wanted to go home, there's no way out of the city."

Kisa stared back at Mino, eyes wide, horrified. "…You mean we're stuck here?" Mino, unnervingly positive, just nodded.

Ritsu swallowed hard. He'd be stuck here with Takano all night long? He remembered the last time there was a black out, when Takano nursed his wounds and eventually took advantage of their isolation…and there was no avoiding it. And this time, even if the others were here, he knew how cunning Takano could be. Almost everyone else from the other departments had long left, besides the occasional straggler or editor-in-chief who was overseeing their own printing processes; their floor in particular was bare for the evening, beyond two of the lead editors from Sapphire. In fact, the whole building was a privacy haven, perfect for Takano's seducing—just pick a dark room of choice! The obnoxious side of Ritsu mind supplied at least ten of the most optimal places in the building, setting up hundreds of imaginary situations that left him and Takano isolated from the rest of the group, in one of these private rooms. He too, groaned and flopped against the window.

There was really no escape this time.


	2. Say It Isn't So

**Author's Note: **So, here's the second installment! This time its Domestica and Yuu (does he count as Domestica too cause I think he deserves his own category of fabulousness) so here we go!

Thanks again for reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing! Every little bit of feedback I get really makes me feel so special, so thank you soo much everyone!

And now *drum roll please* chapter two!

* * *

**TWO**

When Hatori Yoshiyuki heard giggling coming from Chiaki's apartment, he knew something was wrong.

It was Yasane Yuu, he was sure of it. _I swear I will castrate that idiot if one hand is on my Yoshino..._

Of course, he didn't have the nerve to bust into the apartment and attack Yuu – plus, he thought dourly, if Yasane was in the apartment, then _somebody_ must have invited him in…. Suddenly a new, less violent kind of rage filled him: _Yoshino...this better not be a convenient way for you to cancel our date tonight._ Standing at the front door, clutching at the handles of stuffed grocery bags, Hatori seethed at the thought of Yasane crashing their date night, or rather Chiaki _allowing_ Yasane to crash their date night. He'd already got all the supplies for dinner and even bought a bottle of wine just because.

But now that they had a visitor, a very clingy rather annoying visitor, date night was probably just going to become a 'Chiaki and Yasane eat and pass out in front of the television' night. There was another loud laugh that came barrelling past the door – Yasane's—and the man tensed at the sound of it. At first, he wondered if he should just wordlessly accept his defeat and head home; he could think of an excuse to placate Chiaki's questions later on. _'Sorry, Yoshino, Takano-san needed me in the office late tonight. I promise I'll make it up for you with some curry.'_ Or, he could say, _'I left my keys at the office. Once I figured out they were missing, it was already late, so I just picked them up and headed home.' _Then again, he could always blame his absence on a mishap during the train ride…

Hatori bit his tongue and decided to just head in…he was man enough to take on Yasane, even if it would be just a few terse words thrown back and forth between them before Chiaki came stumbling in to play the mediator. Plus, he was a horrible liar and his beloved was always quick to point that out for him.

He shifted the bags from one hand to the other, wriggled his hand into his slacks pocket, and produced a lonely key ring, holding only his and Chiaki's apartment keys. He fought with the perpetually stubborn lock for just a second, twisting the key until he heard he pins press, and pushed open the door with the toe of his shoe. Of course, before he left the genkan, he produced his phone from his pocket, the straining plastic of the grocery bags cutting into his palm, and started sifting through his email trying desperately to look absorbed in work. As if he hadn't been waiting all week for some alone time with Chiaki...as if he wasn't a massive idiot for believing that the brunet would _actually_ remember anything.

As he stepped through the entryway and into the main room of the apartment, the first thing that caught his eye was Chiaki and Yasane, backs on the floor and pads of their feet pressed together. They were both in fits of laughter. _What in all hell...?_

He didn't bother to say anything...not that he'd have a chance over the two young men's hysteric laughing. He just shuffled into the kitchen par usual, set the groceries and his work case onto the counter, and began emptying the bags. Chiaki, once he'd caught his breath, pulled up at the waist and chirped, "Hi Tori!"

"Hello, Yoshino. Yasane," he grunted.

Yasane, who had also paused his actions to lift himself just enough to glance over the back of the sofa, offered him a nod laced with poison before returning his attentions back to their game, giving Chiaki a rather hard shove, sending the young man's knees back into his chest.

"Yuu! Stop cheating! I wasn't ready!" Chiaki whined.

"Then pay attention!"

There was another short-lived battle of shoves and kicks before Chiaki's legs gave out and jolted backwards, marking his second loss since Hatori had arrived. He, on the other hand, was storing away some mismatched cans of vegetables when he heard Chiaki's voice float from the living room, addressing him. "We're foot wrestling, Tori," Chiaki announced. Hatori nodded, patiently, back facing the two men as his brows drew together. "He thinks he's stronger than I am because he's taller." Another grunt of effort followed, along with a fit of laughter. Hatori rolled his eyes.

"I see," he said, voice tight, holding back a growl. He snatched a beer out of the refrigerator and shuffled into the main room, stepping round the two men. He flopped onto the sofa, located the remote and flipped on the evening news. He was almost trembling, his stomach clenched, his pride hissing at him to at least say something about Yasane's presence, at least do _something_...but the other side of his brain, his logic, gently reminded him that Yasane was Chiaki's friend and despite the fishiness of their relationship, he had to remain pleasant for the sake of Chiaki.

"Owww, Chii! Fuck, don't smash your foot into my balls!"

"Hahaha, that's pay back for playing dirty."

"Shit! Oww!" Yasane whimpered between laughs.

Hatori, who's attention was drawn by the noise, reeled himself back to the television, staring resentfully at the week's weather forecast—the summer was in full force, bringing along a brutal heat that had worked its way through the city and settled in, turning the crowded streets into a temporary oven. However, despite the heat, Hatori refused to adjust his wardrobe accordingly, stubbornly wearing his uniform button down work shirt, black slacks, and a tie everyday, just as he had during the coldest months of the winter. It drove Chiaki insane – _'Tori,' _the young author would complain on the mornings when he ended up spending the night at his boyfriend's apartment, as he watched him dress,_ 'Doesn't that tie just choke you to death all day long?" _He'd shake his head, saying that it was a necessary evil of a professional's life. _'Some of us aren't lucky enough to have jobs where we can flop around the apartment all day, Yoshino.'_

It wasn't like he was required to adhere to such a strict clothing regimen. Marukawa never had much of a dress code due to Director Isaka's lassiez-faire influence, so the guys at the Emerald office were known to come into the office dressed in just about anything, (though Takano eventually drew the line at Kisa's pyjamas). But seeing that fashion was never his forte, or remotely of interest, Hatori insisted to keep his work clothing consistent, in order to avoid making some kind of atrocious mistake.

Suddenly Chiaki sat forward, his breathing short from laughter, arm stretched out in the universal signal to stop. "Yuu," he gasped. "Yuu…wait. I have…. I have to go pee. Let me up." Yasane respected the request, removing himself from the small brunette – of course the dirty-blonde decided it be funny to snap the protruding elastic of his friend's underwear as his sweats slid lower onto his hips while he scrambled up onto his feet. Chiaki squeaked, whipped around and glared, before he headed down the hall to the bathroom, leaving Hatori and Yasane very much alone.

"Did you really have to do that?" Hatori questioned sharply, attention still focused on the television. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yasane smirk.

"Come on, two guys can mess around," he simpered. "Plus, I thought it was innocent enough."

Hatori drew his eyes to Yasane, shooting him a dark look. "Well, as 'innocent' as your little school boy crush is, watching your flirting methods revert back to that of a twelve year old boy's is rather pathetic."

Yasane narrowed his eyes, turning round fully to stare at Hatori head on. "You're just jealous that he doesn't let _you_ put your hands down there." Then, with feigned concern, he quipped, "Been awhile huh, grumpy pants?"

Hatori shrugged him away quickly and huffed, conveying the impression that he wasn't going to dignify that comment with a response. He shifted nervously though – it seemed Yasane was being fed information about his sex life from somewhere (probably from Chiaki) and the idea itself was unsettling. It really wasn't fair, considering he hadn't a clue about the other man's personal life beyond his relationship with Chiaki.

Yasane continued, "You know, maybe if you weren't so serious all the time, things wouldn't be so mundane."

"What things?" Hatori demanded.

"You know what _things_."

Sex things, of course.

Hatori exhaled sharply and replied in a flinty tone, "I don't care to know where you are hearing this, but Yoshino and I are fine." This was kind of a lie, but he couldn't help it. For the past few weeks his advances toward Chiaki had been either turned down or ended up in every scenario _but_ sex, and by now, his ego was battered.

"_Sure_," Yasane said sardonically with a sweeping roll of his eyes, as if he knew this was a lie.

They glared at each other, locked in stalemate—after all, it was just a matter of he-said-she-said—and Hatori jerked his attention back to the television, signalling that the conversation was over. Just then, Chiaki returned completely unaware of the undercurrent of tension between his dearest friends. Hatori glanced at him, sour. He wondered if Yasane's allegations were true: that Chiaki really did complain about their relationship behind his back.

Annoyed, he slumped into his seat, his expression settling into a deep frown.

"Seriously, Yuu, my legs are killing me," Chiaki whined, rounding the sofa. He plopped down on the floor unceremoniously, next to Yasane, lifting his leg up, setting it into the dirty blonde's lap. "I think you might have broken one of my hips," he said, forcing a pout as he showed his friend the "broken" joint. Hatori tightened at the sight of it, quickly diverting his attention to the news of a triple homicide in Itabashi. He took another swig of beer, cringing ever so slightly at the cheap taste.

"Broken it?" Yasane echoed, mildly. An inappropriate hand reached over and touched the fabric of Chiaki's pants, right at the hipbone, feeling for just a second before he stopped and blew an exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry, Chii," he feigned lament, "You're just another unfortunate victim of my manly strength—your legs never stood a chance." Hatori, seething, was watching—barely—but he saw that little touch that was far beyond friendly. Blue eyes shifting between the pair, watching Chiaki's response, were hopeful. Chiaki may have been a little dense at times but he was far from stupid. He knew that was not a playful touch. But Chiaki just rolled his eyes and pulled away, rolling to his own space on the carpet as he pointed out that it wasn't really a fair game. He repositioned himself so that his head was propped up on Yasane's thigh. They sat there for a moment of silence, the three of them watching the television when Hatori caught Yasane's hand drift over and start combing through the smaller brunet's hair.

That was the final straw.

Hatori suddenly stood, beer in hand, and said sedately, "I just remembered that I've got work to do tonight, so I'll head back to my place." On any normal day, he'd sit there out of duty, even if he was being silently taunted, but they'd been planning this little date for a week and there was no way he was going to play doting boyfriend when he was being two timed right in front of his face.

Chiaki's expression faltered, eyes darting to Hatori, suddenly sitting straight as he protested, "Tori, let loose a little. I'm sure your work can wait one night." Ignoring the smaller man's pleading case, Hatori made his way back in the kitchen, tossed the can of beer in the recycle and snatched his brief case from the counter. "Come on, you have all weekend for that."

Hatori threw him a look from over his shoulder. "There's no such thing as a weekend when you're an editor," he replied, sharply. With that, he started headed to the genkan, bending over to shove his feet into his worn work shoes.

Chiaki, clearly disturbed by the tension he obviously hadn't noticed before, pulled himself to his feet. "Tori, can't you do your work here?" he asked, his vocal cords tight with worry. When Hatori didn't reply, he heard the sock-clad man come padding down the hard wood floor behind him. "Please? Just for tonight?"

"Sorry, Yoshino," he dismissed, agitated. He really didn't know what to say after that, how to mollify those wide, steel blue eyes that were peering up at him, filled with uncharacteristic anxiety. As mad as Hatori was, he couldn't stand to hurt the poor guy. Finally, he added, "I…I need a computer for this."

"But I have a computer here," Chiaki pointed out. "You know that. You use it all the time."

Stuck, the tall man stuttered for a response. "Uh, but I need a specific file that's on my computer back at home. To send to uh, Takano-san."

At the sound of that name Chiaki tensed. "What file does he need?" Usually, when Takano was looking for something from Hatori, it led back to a fault on Chiaki's part. He frowned, concentrating, trying to remember if he'd forgotten any deadlines recently.

"Its just a report thing, nothing to get worked up about," Hatori said, allowing his professional tone to take place of his weary temper. "He's just bitching for it so I promised I'd give it to him pronto."

Chiaki, sceptical, blinked and eventually nodded, seemingly accepting the situation. "Oh. Okay. Can you come back later on tonight?" he asked, hopeful.

Hatori rolled his eyes. "With train fares so high, lately; no." Chiaki let a new, disappointed frown settle over his worry. "Don't worry, Yoshino, I'll be back to cook you breakfast," he added with a huff. The little brunet smiled.

"With eggs?"

"Yes."

"Tori, you're the best!" he beamed.

"This isn't of my choice," he informed. "I made the mistake of promising your parents that I wouldn't allow you to die out here in the big bad city."

"Aww, you're like my prince, Tori," Chiaki teased, unable to keep down a grin.

"In shining armour," Hatori added, smiling helplessly. "Though I'm thoroughly lacking in the loyal steed department."

"Ah, forget the steed; you have mass transit instead."

"Oh joy," he replied, conversational sarcasm dripping from his words. He was about to say something else when suddenly a third voice came drifting from the other room.

"Chii, I think I might take off as well," Yasane called, rounding the corner, his arms stretched behind his head. "I don't want to miss the last train like I did last time. Though we sure did have _fun_." Hatori turned to the dirty blonde, glowering. He didn't know there was a _last time_ for Yasane's impromptu sleepovers.

"Aww, both you guys are leaving now?" Chiaki asked, disappointed.

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow," Yasane yawned, lazily, slipping his feet into his high-top sneakers. "Don't forget, we're seeing that movie if it's the last thing I do."

Chiaki nodded eagerly. Hatori slumped—well… forget trying to reschedule their date for_ tomorrow_ evening. Feeling the need to keep himself competitive, Hatori leaned in and murmured against the shell of Chiaki's ear, "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" The lithe young man nodded tightly, embarrassment tightening his muscles, leaving him there stiff as Hatori turned his head and kissed him gently on the cheek. From over his shoulder, he swore he heard the faintest hint of a gag. He smirked against Chiaki's soft skin before pulling away.

"T-Tori!" Chiaki finally found the breath to squeak. He wiped the kiss off his burning cheek, sputtering, "What…what was that for?"

Hatori didn't reply. He just gave Chiaki a final nod, and then shot Yasane a glower, before he headed out the door. Though it felt good, actually fucking amazing, to kiss Chiaki so blatantly in front of Yasane, the image of the two young men, snuggled up in Chiaki's bed after Yasane conveniently "missed" the last train was enough to send his temper roaring. "_We sure did have fun."_ What the hell was the guy playing at anyway?

Without even making it a few feet into the hall, he heard Yasane open the door, calling his good byes, before stepping away, headed for the elevator as well. Hatori pressed the button, stood back, the both of them waiting. A steady, awkward silence fell between them. Yasane nibbled at his lower lip, Hatori cleared his throat. "That little kiss in there…it was a cute touch," Yasane remarked, mildly. "I didn't think you guys were that kind of couple." Hatori glared at him from the corner of his eye.

"What kind of couple?" he inquired, eyes narrowing.

"You, know, a lovey-dovey couple," Yasane shrugged, unnervingly calm. "Chiaki never talks about it that way at least. He claims its not really that serious and all." Hatori, agitated, tightened his hand into a fist, cracking his knuckles. It was this again, the details from Chiaki's mindless blabbering. Normally, he found it adorable. But then again, he'd been complaining about Hatori and suddenly the charm was gone and rather, the taller man found it all incredibly annoying. He shifted nervously. Why wasn't the damn elevator already here?

Before he could control himself, he managed to remark, "We are very serious," though the confidence in the man's voice wavered ever so slightly at the thought of last night's failed attempt at sex.

"Really?" Yasane asked, peering over at him. "From what Chii says it's not that much of a big deal at all…Funny, how two people can see the same situation so differently."

"Yes," Hatori added, tightly. "Very funny."

Silence.

"Wait…" Yasane broke the void, this time his voice lacking its usual sneer. Hatori noted that Yasane obviously couldn't stand silence. "Does he really like eating eggs?"

Hatori blinked at him, confused. What a…peculiar question. His brows knit together, wondering how eggs managed to work their way into the smaller man's malicious intentions, but Yasane had lost the slyness in his voice and was looking up at him, seemingly dropping his agenda for the moment. Hatori, perturbed, nodded. "When I scramble them, he calls them egg soup, for some reason," he added, feeling the faintest touch of a smile at the thought of Chiaki. Yasane apparently did too. He gave a short, amused chuckle, shaking his head as if to agree that was _so_ Chiaki.

The elevator came. The two men wordlessly entered, shuffling in on opposite ends of the car, Yasane picking at his fingernails, Hatori staring at a speck on the toe of his left shoe. Yasane, since he was closer, reached over and pressed the first level button. Hatori remembered vaguely that this elevator was old; the apartment building used to be an old office space back in the '80's, according to Chiaki, and since the elevators hadn't been renovated since the building's hay-day, the doors took a couple seconds to close.

From down the hall, there was a loud, "Tori, wait!" Both men glanced up, staring out the open door—scrambling down the hall was Chiaki, wearing his socks. "Tori!

Yasane and Hatori, at the same time, went to hold the door. Yasane managed to reach it first. Chiaki hurried over, slowing his pace once he stepped between the heavy metal doors. "Tori, you almost forgot your keys. The keys to your apartment, you left them on my kitchen counter." He lifted the key ring in his hand—Hatori was caught between a gape and a sigh of relief. The smaller man handed him the keys, grinning as if he'd just saved a little old lady from an apartment fire. Hatori sputtered a thank you.

How could he forget his keys? He never left things. That just wasn't him. He was a reliable man. Stalwart. Sensible.

Well, he _did_ leave the apartment like a mad man… that childish spat also was completely out of character. Realizing that Yasane got to witness this little moment of weakness, he peeked over at the dirty blonde, checking his expression. The young man, much to his surprise, seemed bored with it all and sniffed with disdain. Hatori swallowed hard. Of course, he thought, why would Yasane care about something so frivolous?

Turning his attention back to Chiaki, he forced a smile. "Thanks, Yoshino. I would have completely forgot."

Before Chiaki could answer—teasingly calling Hatori 'idiot'—the doors shut behind him and the elevator came to life, slowly sinking down the elevator shaft.

Chiaki, startled by the sudden movement, blinked. Then he laughed. "Well, I guess I'm going down with you guys," he chirped with a carefree shrug. Yasane reciprocated the gesture, sans the goofy grin; Hatori stayed silent, thousands of thoughts shouting in different directions, saying different words but all begging some outside force that Yasane wouldn't take this opportunity to invite Chiaki over to his house.

Then, just as quickly as the elevator started, it stopped.

First, the lights began flickering. All of them—from the industrial sized florescent strip that was situated on the ceiling, to all the little numbered buttons that were on the metal wall—flashed, like a quick, desperate gasp of air before the electricity that powered them shorted, snatching the lives of each of bulbs. Then above them, some kind of gear wheezed, and the suddenly the car came to a squeaking, rattling stop, jarring its passengers roughly. It was pitch black for a moment, a kind of darkness that was seemingly endless…. From Yasane's corner of the elevator car, there was a muttered, "What the fuck?" Chiaki's voice in a panicked fervour asked, "What's going on?" Hatori crossed his arms, grumbling his own curse before he replied, saying, "What does it look like, Yoshino? The elevator stopped."

"Yeah," Chiaki said, rolling his eyes at being sorely underestimated. "But _why_?"

It was too dark to figure out where Chiaki was, so Hatori just lifted his chin, staring up at the blackness above him, wondering aloud, "Something inside of the controls must have busted."

"Then why did the lights go out too?" Chiaki questioned, nervously.

Hatori shrugged impatiently. "Who knows?"

"Maybe Ol' Faithful finally decided to croak on us," Yasane supplied. Of course, he meant this sarcastically – ever since Chiaki had moved into this building, this elevator had caused Hatori (and Yasane too) nothing but trouble. From being perpetually slow to stopping at the wrong floor occasionally, the elevator quickly became the butt of many jokes, and it was one thing that the two rivals could relate on. The elevator was horrible.

Chiaki, clearly amused, shook his head, calling out in phony horror, "Not the elevator!" He wiped away an imaginary tear, faking a sniffle. "He was so loyal."

"And hard working," Yasane added, a hint of laughter in his voice. "It may have taken a year…"

"Or a century," Chiaki interjected.

Yasane chuckled and continued, "Or…a century for him to get us to our destination, but we made it…. sometimes." With that the two young man burst into laughter, poking back and forth, and forcing serious tones with each clever crack they made.

However, as amusing as the faux funeral service would have been, Hatori was less than interested in banter at a time like this. The elevator was so dated that the emergency phone inside was a bright red hand held receiver once attached to the wall by a spiralling cord—the wire had been cut, leaving the phone propped against the glass box it was locked away in, rendering itself useless. First way of survival was to call for help—Hatori pulled out his phone, running through his contacts, thinking of appropriate rescue candidates. He sorted through the list of names, wondering who'd still even be out at this hour of the night.

Someone from Emerald, probably, he thought. They must have still been at the office, judging from the state that he'd left them in. Even if everyone else had gone home, surely Takano would still be there or at least out and about somewhere. From spending endless hours with the man in the office, Hatori learned that Takano was a night owl and ended up milling around the city hours after work had set him free. Not only that, but the man was wise, dependable, and quick witted. He'd figure out exactly what to do in this kind of situation.

So, as Chiaki and Yasane chortled in remembrance over the indispensible life adventures of the broken elevator, Hatori was dialling up Takano's email address. He hoped that whatever Takano was doing, he'd have enough time (and compassion) to save them.


	3. Stay The Night

**Author's Note: **So thank you everyone for all the support for this story. Happy Thursday y'all :)

* * *

**THREE**

Once their self-proclaimed fearless leader had collected himself, he sat down at his desk and began scheming a plan.

"We need someone to contact the printer," Takano said archly, "and make sure they were not affected."

"Of course they were affected," Kisa interjected cynically, crossing his arms. "We're talking about the printer's office here, not the Pentagon."

Takano, either by choice or distraction, ignored that comment and continued. "Mino, you're good at that kind of stuff. Can you call them up?"

"Sorry Takano-san but…the mainline phone isn't working and we don't have anyone at the printer's personal contacts," Mino gently reminded, with the slightest cringe. The other man asked about the fax machine: Mino shook his head grimly. Takano muttered a curse before he shook his head, exhaling deeply, dismissing the idea.

"Fine then, forget it." He stopped for a second, lowering his head, running his tongue along his front teeth as he thought. There was a beat where no one moved, waiting for Takano's next order. Finally, the editor-in-chief told the three of them to contact their artists and try to finish as much as they possibly could without the phone or fax machine. "Don't tell them we're in a blackout though! They need to be working at their full potential!" Ritsu shuffled his way back to his desk, feeling the slightest bit resentful toward the guy – even in a black out, Takano managed to keep them working. A true slave driver.

It took a minute to get situated, luckily the emergency lights kept the office dim enough to just barely see, before the office was back in working order sans the aid of any modern technology beyond their cell phones. There were a few curses distributed when Ritsu pointed out that the internet wasn't working either—Takano replied, sardonically, "Duh, considering the router plugs into the power strip which uses this magical thing called electricity," and Ritsu blushed furiously, shoving a stack of papers in his face though all the print looked like smudges of ink in the low light.

He had to squint hard against the darkness, but after thirty minutes Ritsu managed to read through Satou's most recent drafts—beyond a few spelling errors and a single instance of crooked typography, he was starting to feel anxiety loosen its grip round his throat. He was waiting on three more pages, after that he was done.

"Takano-san," he called, "Can you read over this quickly?" The older man glanced up at him from over the frame of his glasses and nodded, holding up a finger to say that he was almost done with whatever he was doing. Ritsu pushed away from the desk and went to stand, shuffling over to Takano's side of the office with his stack of manuscripts in hand.

Takano was leaned over the desk, concentrated on his own hefty stack of papers that were dotted with serious looking print. Ever since the power had shut off, the office had grown unbearably hot—Ritsu could see the effects of the heat from the slight sheen of sweat starting to dabble Takano's collar and brow. He had shed his button down earlier on, the fabric draped over the back of his chair, leaving him with nothing more than his under tee shirt. Lean, muscular arms were bared, giving Ritsu just enough of a taste of skin to trigger his thoughts about _other_ things underneath that thin fabric. It was a thought that made him blush, though he couldn't quite decide why; maybe it was the notion of checking out his boss or just a man in general…or even that it was a reminder of every other embarrassing act he'd engaged in with the man.

But sex should have been the last thing on his mind at the work place.

Finally, Takano looked up and Ritsu snapped his eyes down to the floor, swearing he'd been caught. "Uh…. h-here, h-here it is!" he blurted shoving the stack of papers into Takano's hands. "Thank you for looking at them!" he said with a curt bow before he was scrambling back to his desk, cursing himself for staring…. and worse thinking that he was attractive or handsome or pretty or whatever weird word his mind wanted to use to describe him. But, before he could get away, Takano had already tightened his large hand round Ritsu's wrist and was jerking his subordinate back to his desk with a harsh tug.

"Get back here, Onodera!" Takano demanded sharply. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Ritsu opened his mouth to reply but Takano cut him off by snatching the back of Hatori's spare chair and wheeled it over, shoving Ritsu into it. There was no hope of escaping - after all it was his policy that whenever he looked over a story, he needed the editor there with him in order for both of them to gain practice picking out errors. "I see three problems already," Takano pointed out immediately, his finger dancing over the page as he quickly scanned the text.

"What? What do you mean?" Ritsu gaped, eyes following Takano's finger. "I checked this thing practically a hundred times!"

"Well, this is why we check one hundred and one times," Takano muttered, focus directed toward the manga panels in front of him, drawing a pen and pad of paper from his desk before he set to scribbling his complaints in red pen.

He wrote down a few more things before he raised a finger to point at one of the panels at the top of the page, saying, "This kanji is misused in this context – doesn't make any sense."

"Where?"

The older of the two men leaned in once again, closer this time; so close that Ritsu could feel warm skin brushing against skin, legs luckily protected by a thick corduroy barrier that refused to allow Takano's heat in. For a moment, Ritsu floundered, unsure of where to look, what to say, whether or not this was another attempt to hit on him, but Takano's voice had dropped to his professional tone as he said, "Right here. Read this sentence again."

Ritsu's eyes swept over that panel. Takano was right – there was a misused kanji right there in front of him. He would have never noticed such a thing. "I didn't notice that actually," Ritsu admitted, and he watched as Takano scribbled a few more notes for him.

Takano was already examining another place of the manuscript murmuring, "There's this line that needs to be cleaned up a bit…ah, another spelling error." That one Ritsu had noted. He didn't say anything though, and allowed the older man to scratch his notes around the offending area.

Fifty-two pages later, Takano set the entire manuscript, minus three pages, down onto the desk, finished. "Get these edits into Satou as soon as possible. You could probably take pictures of them with your phone and send them in."

"A-alright," Ritsu agreed, standing. "Thank you for your input, Takano-san."

Takano didn't smile. Instead he gave him a quick affirmative nod before stopping Ritsu to say, "So far, so good. Looks like we're going to prove Yokozawa wrong this time." Ritsu nodded, feeling a small lift in his spirits. It was a rare treat when Takano praised him and once he turned around, his lips quirked ever so slightly with a smile.

But his perkiness was short lived—fifteen minutes after he sat down at his desk again, the room went black. He had just finished his conversation with Satou over their edits, amicable chatting was buzzing round the office over the excruciating weather, when the emergency light above them flickered and suddenly burned out, enveloping the room in complete darkness. From around the room there were scattered curses, Kisa cracked his skull into the desk, Mino sighed, and Ritsu inhaled deeply, dropping his pen onto the desk in frustration. The only light they had now was from the moon, whose rays peeked through the blinds, leaving little strips of light on the floor.

"I thought that was supposed to work all the time," Kisa's voice pointed out, with a groan.

"The bulb is probably old. You know the building mechanic probably never changed it in fifteen years," Mino pointed out causing another round of groans.

"I have a flashlight app on my phone," Ritsu pointed out, hoping to be helpful. Instead, he got (or at least he felt) all three pairs of eyes in the room narrow.

"Hooray for you, Riichan," Kisa grumped, "but for the rest of us with peasant phones that haven't quite reached the twenty first century yet, we're screwed." Ritsu slumped.

There was a moment where no one said anything, and suddenly Takano stood marched over toward Ritsu and Kisa's desk. "Actually, that's a good idea. You," he demanded, pointing at Ritsu. "Come with me."

"What?" Ritsu asked, turning up to Takano who was looming over him, expectantly.

"You're coming with me to find a flashlight," the man remarked simply, his hands swiftly grasping the back of the chair and tugged it away from the desk, making Ritsu jump at the sudden movement. He fumbled for a protest, claiming that he was busy, and one man alone could make it to the janitor's closet just fine, and he didn't know where a flashlight even was all at once. Unimpressed, Takano just replied, "Come on, its not like you're doing anything anyway."

Ritsu had no response for that; without any light, he couldn't read any manuscripts and if Ritsu called Satou again, his nagging was more of a hindrance than anything else in her progress. At a loss for words, Ritsu just lamely gaped in reply, and Takano's firm expression softened into a knowing smirk. Smug in his perceived victory, he motioned that Ritsu stand with a smooth flick of the hand, and with heavy hesitation, he obeyed.

"Alright," the taller man announced to the room loudly over his shoulder as he headed out the door, Ritsu dragging his feet behind him, "We'll be back later." As soon as they had made it far enough down the hall, he noted out loud, "Might take a while. Gotta find the keys first." Though Ritsu couldn't see it, he heard that smirk in the man's voice, and immediately he began to suspect that there was more to this partner trip than just finding flashlights. Shooting a sour glare at the man's back as they walked down the hall, the occasional scuff of their work shoes against the tile floors filling the silence, Ritsu began wondering if this janitor's closet _full of flashlights_ even existed.

Then, the thought of whether or not this was one of Takano's brilliant ploys ceased his brain activity and he was suddenly over taken with annoyance over his own gullibility.

"Damn it, I was supposed to avoid that," he hissed underneath his breath. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"Huh?" Apparently Takano heard that.

"Nothing," Ritsu dismissed sourly, ringing his hands as he walked. "Nothing at all."

~o~

It was like the world had stopped. Which was annoying considering he there was a witty comeback hot on his tongue and his victim had suddenly wondered aloud, "What the hell?" therefore concluding any chance of their banter continuing. The power was out. For the first time in months. And somehow, Yokozawa managed to find himself alone with Kirishima Zen in the guy's office without another soul on their floor. Yokozawa scowled. Kirishima smirked. Great.

If real life were a manga, Yokozawa would have stricken his plot as "too coincidental". But, coincidental or not, Kirishima was clearly enjoying the prospects of the moment, his eyes glinting with a dangerous mischief that made the other man squirm. There was a beat where neither of them said anything, just caught in stalemate – after all, Kirishima was an easy man to read, his expressions simple and clearly conveyed – and Yokozawa took a step backward as if to signal his exit. But Kirishima caught him.

"Ah, look. It seems the power went out," The editor-in-chief pointed out, sharp edge of sarcasm lining his words. He ran his tongue along the ridges of his front teeth and muttered, "How fucking wonderful," before he closed his glowing laptop and sighed.

Ignoring him, Yokozawa glanced around the room, quickly. "Is it the whole building?"

Kirishima snorted, rolling his eyes. "No, it's just this room."

"Shut up," Yokozawa snapped, turning his attention back to the dilemma at hand. Without power in the building, there was no way anyone was getting their manuscripts to the printers tonight. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He'd been stuck here all night for no reason; Emerald had been far from finished the last time he'd checked on them and now, there was no way they were getting done. Grumbling, Yokozawa cursed, "Fucking Masamune and his goof troop…"

Kirishima cocked a brow as he fiddled with a pen. "Huh?"

"Masamune," Yokozawa sighed, impatiently. "He's no where near done and neither are his dwarfs. So they're fucked. Meaning I'm fucked." He sighed again, louder and hollered to the empty office, "_Fuck_!"

Amused by the little snit, Kirishima leaned over the table, propped on his elbows, fists holding his chin. "Language, language, sweetie," Kirishima warned lightly, restoring his smirk. "You can put lipstick on a pig…"

Yokozawa rolled his eyes and growled. Just then, he had another shock: A siren went off somewhere in the distant city, drawing his attention toward the window at Kirishima's back. He took a few steps forward, perturbed. Darkness had swallowed the entire street and then the street after that, and the next one too, as far as he could see, his eyes following the freeway into central Tokyo. It was a black out – he was sure of it, and he wondered how on earth he'd meet printing deadlines when the whole city had decided to fall asleep on him.

Wait…the whole city?

If there were a blackout, he thought, then the printer would be out of power too, meaning operations would have to be shut down. Meaning that their deadlines were on a hiatus, meaning Marukawa wouldn't lose any money for printing delays, meaning he was in the clear. He sighed, feeling relieved.

Kirishima caught the look of distress on his face and rose from his seat, stepping over to see was bothering Yokozawa. Mistaking that sigh for frustration, the editor was already buzzing around behind him, with a reassuring murmur, "Ah, come on Yokozawa-san, its not that bad. The guys at _Japun_ don't have all our stuff finished either," he admitted in a lame attempt to be conciliatory. Yokozawa glanced over at Kirishima, his momentary peace snatched.

"That doesn't make me feel any better," he growled.

"Ah," Kirishima drew his eyes down to the side for a second, thinking of how to respond. He stepped over to where Yokozawa was standing, following the younger man's gaze that had been attracted by the peculiar darkness that surrounded the Marukawa building, and he blinked in wonder. Yokozawa's attention was drawn to the man's warmth and he caught the jolt of confusion and wonderment in Kirishima's expression and despite what he _wanted_ to think, it was really, rather cute.

"Weird," Kirishima finally commented…. and then he suddenly stopped and his expression tightened. When Yokozawa shot him a curious look, Kirishima explained, "Hiyo is all alone." And with that, Kirishima turned from the window and urgently made his way to the desk, grabbing his cell phone. He tapped the screen and went straight to his most recent call, dialling the number. Yokozawa wasn't expecting to hear Hiyo's soft voice fill the room, saying, "Papa! Why are you calling? Are you almost home?"

Kirishima had obviously put them on speakerphone. As if they were a family. Yokozawa's heart wanted to smile, but his pride refused him to do so.

The older man sighed, obviously feeling a weight of guilt as he replied, "No, sweetie, I'm still at work. I'm here with your favourite old bear. Say hi to Yokozawa." The younger man stiffened at the nickname and turned to give Kirishima a dirty look – though his resent was quickly doused once he heard Hiyori's girlish voice reply.

"Onii-chan's there?" she chirped excitedly. "Hi!"

Yokozawa forced down a chuckle, flattered, and answered, "Hello, Hiyo."

"Sweetie," Kirishima started, the usual cockiness in his voice replaced with humble worry, an emotion that Yokozawa had rarely, if ever seen the older man display. He was clutching the phone lovingly, as if he was holding Hiyo herself, and began to pace around the room. Before he knew Kirishima as a father, when he still considered him solely as the editor-in-chief of _Japun_ and his daily dose of social interaction, Yokozawa never imagined that Kirishima Zen could even experience worry in the same way that he did. Kirishima was spontaneous and confident, and no matter how hard Yokozawa tried to understand guy's pace, he couldn't seem to figure out how someone who filled one of the most stressful jobs in the company managed to be collected all the time.

He could see the worry starting to press Kirishima's brow as he said, "Are all the lights out at the house?"

"Yeah," Hiyori twittered, "…Wait. How'd you know?"

Kirishima chuckled, "Same thing happened here just a moment ago. Did it startle you?"

"A little," Hiyo replied. "I was just reading, though. Sora-chan was the one who was even more scared. He came up onto the bed and laid right next to me, the poor guy."

"Do you need to go over Yuki-chan's house?" Kirishima asked, concerned.

"I'm fine! Its too late to bother her anyway."

"Well, are you sure you can take care of yourself? It might be awhile before the train starts back up again, and the freeway is a mess…"

"_Papa_! I'm practically eleven years old!" Hiyo squeaked impatiently. Yokozawa could hear the roll of her eyes in her voice, just another father-daughter moment that made his own pride wither long enough for a quick chuckle.

"Fine, fine," Kirishima huffed, though the amusement was clear in his voice. "Its just because I love you."

"You're _so_ embarrassing! Onii-chan must think I'm a big baby!"

Yokozawa snorted. "Don't worry, Hiyo. Your papa is the only one who's seriously afraid of the dark." He shot Kirishima a smug look and the man just gaped in silent protest.

Hiyori giggled. "Papa, you're such a wimp."

Eyebrows knitting together, the man retorted, "Hey now! No ganging up on the elderly!" He set the phone down onto the desk, crossing his arms, returning back to business. "Now Hiyo, I want you to keep the door locked…"

The girl sighed. "I know, papa."

"You know I don't trust those rowdy boys next door." Kirishima apprised.

"I know," she replied patiently.

"And don't use the oven or the fireplace until I get home."

"Its summer, papa," Hiyori gently reminded. Yokozawa, off on the side, rolled his eyes with a scoff. Kirishima, before anything else, was truly a doting father. "I promise I will be just fine," she assured.

"Certain?" Kirishima arched and eyebrow, questioning.

There was a pause where Hiyo must have nodded but then she quickly realized her mistake and corrected herself, chirping, "Of course. I have Sora-chan here to keep me company." On her line, there was a rustling fumble—clearly it was the young girl scooping up the large cat into her skinny arms with a grunt. Once she had situated Sorata in her arms along with the phone, she added with innocent fervor, "He's a boy, so he'll protect me! Won't you, Sora-chan?"

A gentle chuckle filled the room. When Yokozawa looked across, Kirishima was smiling, first at the phone and then at him, and it brought the younger man a sense of warmth, a feeling that he had long forgotten until recently; until he rediscovered how nice it felt to belong to something, to someone.

"Alright," Kirishima sighed, sitting up onto the desktop. "Sorata better not let me down," he warned teasingly, his voice regaining some of its usual humorous buoyancy.

"Okay!" Have fun with Onii-san," Hiyori called out. "Bye-bye Yokozawa-nii-san!"

Yokozawa smiled. "Have a good night, Hiyo."

After an exchange of goodbyes in between the three of them, Kirishima hung up the phone, the atmosphere falling flat without the sound of a girlish voice floating through the room. There was a beat, when Yokozawa pondered whether or not he should just go home with Kirishima tonight—the thought of heading back to a silent apartment was unnerving and in all honesty, he had missed the simple sounds of domesticity: the sound of the day's caffeine fix being brewed in the kitchen, Kirishima's stifled cursing as he sat at the sofa, Hiyo between his legs, working her hair into a shameful set of pigtails, the giggle of an elementary school student's early morning chatter.

He was jarred from this thought when he heard an all too familiar voice sound out. "So," Kirishima took a step towards him, his voice dipping low into a hum, "its late, it's dark, we're by ourselves…"

"So? Yokozawa's face twisted, serenity lost.

Kirishima pushed away from his perch on the desk, floating his way around the office towards Yokozawa, sweeping his forefinger over each surface in his path. "So it's some time for us to be alone," he explained, purring, lusty words thickening the air. "It's been a while, neh, Yokozawa-san."

"_It_ was practically last week!" Yokozawa threw back tersely. He furrowed his brow at the performance Kirishima was putting on and crossed his arms indignantly over his chest; though the tension in his shoulders and the in shudder each breath was painfully obvious. It was humiliating and Yokozawa straightened his back, swallowed hard, and tried his damnest to keep his expression commanding.

He felt Kirishima work his way behind him, fingers making feather light touches along the back of the leather chair, "accidentally" drifting to tease along the curves in his back. Yokozawa tensed, breath caught in his throat, just barely managing to snip, "Cut the lovey-dovey shit Kirishima-san."

The brunet dipped down, his hands on either side of Yokozawa's shoulders, lips coming dangerously close to his ear. "Mhhn, but why?" he wondered huskily. "I have you right where I want you."

"Exactly," Yokozawa, unimpressed, bit off. He twisted around to fix Kirishima with a withering scowl. "Your intentions are always impure."

"Impure," Kirishima pondered, leaning in closer again, "or just fun?"

"Disgustingly impure!"Yokozawa jerked away.

In a beat, Kirishima's arms slid down the younger man's chest, hooking fingers into his belt loops, effectively caging him in. The bad part about his relationship with Zen, Yokozawa found, was that he had no physical advantage over the guy. In total, they were equally equipped—tall, muscular, and stubborn. And although Kirishima found their similarities to be a charming perk, Yokozawa found the sensation of being potentially overpowered unnerving. At least with Masamune, he knew his standing; he had the ability to shove him off, push him away at anytime. With Kirishima, he had no safety plan, no means of escape. He had to retract his claws because for the first time ever he had met his both his physical and mental match.

"Aw come on, throw me a bone sometime," he complained, coquettishly massaging the pads of his fingers into Yokozawa's belt line. The younger man shuddered embarrassingly at the touch, which Kirishima must have enjoyed, because he released a low, satisfied chuckle. "Ah, see how good it feels when you let me take over."

"It feels awful," Yokozawa protested stubbornly, though his defiance air was thinning, his breathing getting deeper, calmer.

"I bet it does," Kirishima confirmed with a smirk. "I bet you hate it when I kiss your neck like this"—kiss, kiss—"and undo your belt like this." He felt a slight tug at his pants and then the clink of fingers working his belt buckle open. Fingers just barely brushed the ridge of his newly forming erection causing his thighs to quake with anticipation. "It feels so awful, doesn't it?"

"We're at work, you creep," Yokozawa growled, eyes slipping shut. "You know, I could file for sexual harassment."

"No, dear, this is a sexual _surprise_," Kirishima corrected, lips almost brushing his cheek. "Get your definitions straight."

"Well, maybe you should learn to keep your surprises to yourself," Yokozawa replied, tilting his neck slightly left, hoping he could signal Zen to pepper some more kisses there.

"But caring and sharing is the Kirishima motto."

Yokozawa snorted, retorting, "Along with the fifty other Kirishima mottos?"

Along the smooth junction between his neck and shoulder, Yokozawa felt the soft vibration of a chuckle. "Hell yeah. You've gotta study your codes before you can test into Kirishima the family. We only accept the gifted and talented."

Yokozawa raised a brow. "Then how'd _you_ manage to slide through the system?"

The honey-blonde shrugged. "I had my connections."

At this point, Kirishima decided to meet Yokozawa full circle, kneeling down and leaning in, face to face, so noses could brush, cheeks could touch, and lips indulge in some passionate kissing. They ended up sprawled on top of the shit storm of papers that littered the editor-in-chief's desk, Yokozawa dragged down over the older man's body.

Until Kirishima, mid-kiss, squirmed from underneath the salesman, releasing a huffy grunt. Yokozawa simply opened his eyes, fixing his lover with an impatient glare. "I think I have a sharpie in my ass," Kirishima explained as he repositioned himself again, office supplies sliding and crunching underneath their combined weight. .

Yokozawa eyes narrowed. "Tough shit. Now," Yokozawa huffed. "Stop moving around or we'll both end up on the floor."

Kirishima sighed, lips pursing, eyebrows low. "Well, aren't you the nurturer?"

"You reap what you sow, Kirishima-san."

The man's expression shifted, from feigned offense to flirtatious insight, lips pulling into a mischievous grin. "Ah, but last time you enjoyed it so _deeply_." With that, he gave Yokozawa a light peck on his cheek, then his lips.

Yokozawa decided to ignore that comment, allowing himself to melt into the sensations of Kirishima's kisses, touches, and soft purring breaths that were fanning against his skin.

It was surely past Takano's deadline by now, Yokozawa thought—not that he particularly cared. By this point he could give two shits less about Masamune, his twerp boyfriend, and the rest of club dumbass downstairs.

He had much more important things to tend to.


End file.
